


one true time i hold to

by thimble



Series: SASO 2017 [26]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: "What problems could a guy from first class have?""I will not stand for condescension, much less from strangers.""No condescension here," says the man, holding out his hand as if Seijuurou isn't currently gripping the rail with both of his. "And no strangers either. My name is Himuro Tatsuya."Seijuurou looks at the water again, then at Tatsuya's inviting smile. It turns out to be less of a decision that he thought.[An heir and an artist, on the USS Titanic.]





	one true time i hold to

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21931.html?thread=11497899#cmt11497899) prompt.

i.  
  
The engagement is not merely one of convenience or prestige—the Akashi family has enough of both to last several lifetimes over. What his father is greedy for is something immaterial, intangible: the concept of honor, or something like it. He will not introduce unsavory characters into the bloodline; Seijuurou is forbidden from besmirching them that way. Not that Seijuurou has any plans to do so in the first place, nor does he want to disappoint his father.   
  
He simply would've liked the choice, is all. 

 

 

  
  
ii.   
  
"That wouldn't be a pleasant dive," says a voice from behind him. Seijuurou glances over his shoulder, at a man with half of his face obscured in shadow, watching him seemingly without intent to help. His own voice is even when he responds.  
  
"I have considered both the temperature and the propeller." He affixes his gaze back at the water, blackened by the evening sky. "And yet the prospect still seems more inviting than returning to that smoke room."  
  
The man approaches so that he is standing almost right beside Seijuurou, though keeping a particular distance, as if he would prefer not to be responsible if he decides to jump. Seijuurou admires this trait.  
  
"What problems could a guy from first class have?"  
  
"I will not stand for condescension, much less from strangers."  
  
"No condescension here," says the man, holding out his hand as if Seijuurou isn't currently gripping the rail with both of his. "And no strangers either. My name is Himuro Tatsuya."  
  
Seijuurou looks at the water again, then at Tatsuya's inviting smile. It turns out to be less of a decision that he thought. 

 

 

  
  
iii.  
  
Following that fateful night, all he has are memories of a face, shrouded by night, and a palm, warm and soft. For someone so inquisitive, Tatsuya barely gave anything of himself away, and thus Seijuurou has no hope of finding him on a ship so large and densely populated.   
  
That is, if he were a lesser man. But Akashi Seijuurou has pride to rival his determination, and sets off in search of the mysterious Himuro Tatsuya, if not to thank him, then to threaten him in some manner to never divulge what he'd seen Seijuurou almost do.   
  
Dozens of doors closed in his face later, one opens to reveal a face, lit up by daytime, but still somewhat covered by hair.   
  
"Hey, First Class," says Tatsuya, leaning against the door frame. "You're the last person I thought I'd see."  
  
Seijuurou has all manners of retorts die early deaths in his throat, looking at him up close. After an ample pause, he says, "take a walk with me."

 

 

  
  
iv.  
  
If Tatsuya seemed mysterious in the evening, sunlight exacerbates the effect. It's ironic, but perhaps Seijuurou expected for him to be much more forthcoming than he was. Only when Seijuurou becomes curious about the sketchpad he kept tucked under his arm does he unravel, ever so slightly, not exactly embarrassed, but.   
  
Vulnerable.   
  
At the very least, he lets Seijuurou rifle through it, lets him touch the pages and dust his fingertips with charcoal. Seijuurou has always had an interest in art, curious about the way it betrayed the artist's worldview.   
  
And what Tatsuya's drawings say about him is—  
  
"You're quite a shallow person, Tatsuya."  
  
Tatsuya's visible eye widens, and laughter he doesn't seem to have intended to let out escapes anyway. "Excuse me?"  
  
Seijuurou points to the sketchpad. "You only draw beautiful things." To his surprise, a genuine smile eases onto Tatsuya's mouth.  
  
"Actually, you're probably not wrong about that. If I draw someone, it means I've fallen in love with them."  
  
"...shallow  _and_  emotionally fleeting. Good to know."

 

 

  
  
v.  
  
Seijuurou isn't sure how a few evasive—though increasingly revealing—conversations leads to him inviting Tatsuya to dinner, to his fiance's suspicion and his father's disapproval. Tatsuya shows up in a borrowed suit, ill-fitting in some corners, but still more aesthetically pleasing than all of the men in the room.  
  
He skirts his way around most of the questions thrown his way, until Seijuurou's father halts it all with something damning and absolute:  
  
"What do you do?"  
  
Everyone at the table hears it for what it really means:  _what is the measure of your worth?_  
  
Seijuuro offers no aid, wondering how Tatsuya will find his way out of this maze. Finally, Tatsuya says, "likely far more than you've ever done with your own hands, sir."  
  
If inappropriate laughing hadn't been purged from him since childhood, Seijuurou might have indulged it. He glances down at the table instead, trying to tamp down the urge to applaud.

 

 

  
  
vi.   
  
"My father is displeased with you," says Seijuurou, as Tatsuya takes his hand in one soft palm and leads him to God-knows-where. Tatsuya is smirking; he's still facing front so Seijuurou can't see it, but it's clear in his tone.   
  
"Yet his son could not sound more delighted."   
  
"You must realize you're far more suicidal than I ever was."  
  
Tatsuya pulls him into a room full of music and drinks and dancing, so that his reply nearly gets lost in the din. "I'm just good at weighing pros and cons."

 

 

  
  
vii.  
  
Far from the celebration, now, they end up in Seijuurou's quarters. Tatsuya's brought his sketchpad, somehow, and it doesn't take someone of Seijuurou's intellect to arrive at the right conclusions.  
  
"I'd like to draw you," says Tatsuya, almost whispering, as if his throat has gone dry. Seijuurou's lips twist in a wry smile.   
  
"Like one of your French girls?"  
  
"No," says Tatsuya, pinning Seijuurou with such a heavy gaze that he feels like a butterfly in a display case. "Better."  
  
Seijuurou holds that gaze with his own as he sits down. It seems apt, to take the engagement ring off his finger, but Tatsuya says, "keep it on," seeming transfixed by it.   
  
The red diamond truly is beautiful, nicknamed the 'Emperor's Eye' by jewelers, or so Seijuurou's been told. This, he dwells on, if only to avoid the fact that Tatsuya seems transfixed by something—someone—else entirely. 

 

 

  
  
viii.  
  
Tatsuya has shed most of his clothes and he remains a mystery to Seijuurou, unable to look away, like the first time he'd seen Tatsuya under anything but moonlight. He's art itself, sculpted or painted, and just like that first time Seijuurou's eyes linger until they're closed by the touch of Tatsuya's lips against his own.   
  
When Tatsuya's hands wander under Seijuurou's clothes, Seijuurou makes an observation.  
  
"You've done this before."  
  
"Many times," says Tatsuya, his mouth hot along Seijuurou's collarbone, too far gone now to even think of being vague or dishonest. Seijuurou pushes him down onto his back, speaking low until he feels gooseflesh bloom on Tatsuya's skin.  
  
"I will make you forget the rest," he says, far too sure of himself to be considered jealous. "I will be your best one."  
  
Because what Akashi Seijuurou is, is  _absolute._

 

 

  
  
vi.  
  
They're on deck when it happens, in full view of the collision. Neither of them realize the gravity of the situation, not until much later.  
  
Seijuurou isn't one for wishes, but he would waste them all to have been told what he could have done.

 

 

  
  
v.  
  
"Don't worry," says Tatsuya, his breath, so warm just hours beforehand, turned freezing by the Arctic cold. "You're not going to die here, Sei."  
  
"That is a certainty," says Seijuurou. Their hands seem to have been frozen together, carved into the same ice sculpture. "And neither will you."  
  
Tatsuya is no longer meeting his gaze. His eyes are closed now, his cheek pressed to their clasped hands as he stayed in the frigid water and Seijuurou stayed atop of it.   
  
"Do you still think I'm shallow?" His lips are curved in a smile, and for the first time Seijuurou loathes the sight of it, if only because he'd like to see those lips frown in contemplation or and gape open in surprise again, not be trapped in a smile forever.  
  
"Worse than a spilled glass," says Seijuurou, his eyes burning despite the below zero temperature, as if withholding the truth will give him more chances in the future to take back the lie.


End file.
